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Leaving Durban I recoiled into the same nervous wreck that left Liverpool. For five years the Southern Ocean has been at the back of my mind, scaring me, daring me and even enticing me to take it on. I’ve read and heard stories about the storms, the waves and the freezing waters. I was petrified. After all the waiting my biggest fear was staring me in the face and I had no choice but to go out there and see what was thrown at me. To make it worse, I had throughly enjoyed my stay in Durban, escaping to the lush mountains of Drakensberg with some fantastic friends from other boats and there was so much more to explore!  

 Once we left the safety of the harbour, we headed south and straight into a storm. The first few days were exactly as I expected with strong winds, big waves and a proper drenching. It’s fine when you’re up on deck and sailing the boat and more often than not it’s great fun but downstairs the sails were wet, the floor was wet, there wasn’t a dry seat on the boat and there was a river flowing down onto my bunk. To top it all off, the sea sickness returned. It wasn’t as bad as previous legs but still, 3 days of feeling queasy whilst trying to play a full part in the team is not fun. However, when you’re out at sea, there’s little choice but to continue and try to enjoy what you’re doing. The stars are still beautiful, the sea is still amazing no matter how sick you feel. Thankfully, after trying travel bands, sea sick patches, sea sick pills, something from the medical box, herbal pills from New Zealand, the same medication you take with morphine to stop nausea and a head massage, I felt better although I was rattling like a pill box and with that cocktail inside me, I was waiting for an alternative version of Gulf War Syndrome to take effect!

Then the storms subsided and out came boiling hot sunshine. The thermals went back into the dry bags and every spare inch on the deck was covered in cushions, mattresses, clothing, boots, foulies and sails in a desperate attempt to dry the boat. I also had my first experience with ‘Sikoflex’, the sealant we use onboard - the last thing skipper said to me before I tackled the cause of the leak above my bunk was “not to get it on my fingers as it gets everywhere”. Well, we can’t all be perfect!! It wasn’t pretty but I wasn’t prepared to take the risk of it not working.

For days afterwards we enjoyed good winds and relatively calm seas and so my handy work didn’t get tested. Most of us were a little disappointed not to have the big rolling waves and experience surfing down waves at 20+ knots again. However, I was also very conscious of my fears and the man overboard experienced on the Glasgow boat had scared us all and the reality of what we’re doing really did sink in. (Thankfully, thanks to the crew & skipper, he was picked up within 9 minutes and is now safe and well). What I really feared though was feeling as though I’d cheated the Southern Ocean and would need to cross it again. Fortunately, the last week soon put pay to that fear!

While we enjoyed the good weather and good winds, other boats had sailed into a wind hole which meant that we went from 7th to 2nd in 48 hours. It picked up spirits onboard and we were really keen to do well into our home port.  The final week of the race into Australia was exciting, thrilling, close and….wet! The storms, high winds and crashing waves that we’d all been expecting materialised and were great fun. (I can say that now that I’m writing from the safety of Fremantle’s sunny shores!) Our tacticians did a superb job helping us to stay ahead of the chasing pack and make up ground on the leaders, Durban. With a few more hours we think we would have caught them but hopefully on the next leg there won’t be any ifs or buts! We finally made it into Oz at about midnight, where I was met by Mum and Dad - it really did feel like a homecoming and I am very proud to be able to say that I have sailed the Southern Ocean…and there’s no need to return! 

My second Atlantic crossing in as many months has so many stories. The smelling, showering and lack of washing; the sun, rain and storms; the stars, sunrises and sunsets; the whales breaching, dolphins surfing & seals sunbathing; living in the heat, cold and at a 35 degree angle; thermals and shorts, socks and sandals, stockings and pearls; the albatross resting, flying, soaring; the winds, tactics and currents, the shores of Brasil, South Africa and exotic Atlantic islands; the culinary delights, unleven bread disasters and yeast thrills; the friends, crew and competitors, swimming on the deck, off the bow and off the stern. Each and every one has a story behind it but for now, I will simply tell you about a day that will live long in my memory. November 12^th 2007. 

After having paid tribute the day before to those who gave their lives to enable us to enjoy our freedom, it seemed appropriate that it was such a special day. It began like any other with the daily struggle to rise from my bunk at 2:45am after only 2 hours sleep. Sporting the usual thermals, shorts and long white socks combination under my foulies, I headed upstairs along with the rest of the crew. Sitting next to the helm to avoid any further recurrence of booms coming at my head at high speed in a crash gybe, I was able to use the pitch black of night to disguise my slow awakening. The wind was blowing, the helm seemed heavy and the spray was lashing into our faces. I was quite content to sink into my foulies and let the time pass away. 

As the day began to dawn I was called to take the helm. An hour of concentration is enough for anyone and duty calls, whether or not you’re actually awake! Thankfully the weather had improved and daylight always improves the situation. It was a stunning morning as sunshine broke through the dispersing clouds. The waves were large but rolling and our big blue boat was happy surfing down them. The excitment as you’re sat, perched on the crest of a wave, looking down its face from 35 feet up is enough to wake even me up!    Five years of dreaming, five years of saving, the wind, rain and storms; suddenly, they were all worthwhile. The adrenalin and exhilaration as I stood at the helm surfing down the waves off the coast of Africa are hard to describe. That first hour on the helm was simply superb. I loved it. 

Brien, one of our ‘mothers’ for the day then appeared with our homemade bread toasted and layered in butter and honey. An everyday option I rarely enjoy whilst on land but it’s become a particular favourite and it tasted particularly good that morning, although one handed helming led to slight deviations in our intended navigational course! When I thought life couldn’t get better, off our starboard beam we spotted two whales. Despite seeing plenty of whales along the way, it remains a pretty special site – probably because it’s so hard to capture the moment on camera! Then came the “piece de resistance”. Out of the deep, blue sea rose a particularly large wave. I found myself responsible for steering our 68 foot racing machine with noone to assist in the split seconds available. The bow of the boat dug in and I was facing the start of the ride of my life. Down we went, faster and faster, the adrenalin pumping and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Spray was flying everywhere. The boat bounced along as it does when it reaches high speed. We all knew that this was going to be big. I could no longer see the wave as the spray splashed across my face. When the shouting and hollering began, I couldn’t help but be distracted by the speedo. There we were, I broke through the 16 knot barrier, up it went, 18, 19 knots. Ecstatic, I took my hands of the wheel and started jumping up and down. News came up from the Nav Station that I’d set a new boat record – 21.5 knots. I retired to my bunk a very happy young man. 

Despite more fun, speed and surfing in the following watch, none of us were able to push the record any further but that didn’t prevent us from enjoying every moment trying! We even had huge dolphins surfing alongside us, egging us on as they darted ahead and then patiently waited for us to catch up.  The evening and night watches couldn’t have been more different. After hearing that the Durban boat had gone East of the Agulhas Current, which flows around the Cape, we gambled that they had local knowledge and decided to follow. Sadly we later learnt that their position had been completely wrong and they were in fact hugging the coastline. As we crossed the current, its strength grew and we decided to turn back towards the coast. The winds, current and waves united to form a ferocious sea.

Our 1800 watch started with a sail change and in those stormy conditions everything takes so much longer and is so much more work. Just walking up and down the 68ft long boat takes a great deal of effort. Waves were crashing over the decks, filling the snakepit and the helmsman was stood knee high in water. We pulled, we dragged, we packed, we tied, we grinded. The only thing we didn’t do was rest. For three hours we were on deck doing everything in our power to get the boat through the storm before we handed over to the next watch. At one point I was stood holding a shroud next to the mast when my legs were taken from under me. I don’t know where they went. I was no longer in touch with the deck. There we were at the mercy of the wave. My heart missed a beat. I’m sure I didn’t go far and I’m sure it wasn’t for long but it’s a moment of my life I don’t think I’ll be forgetting in a while. Thankfully I came back down and landed still attached to the deck, the shroud and to my safety line. I looked at Skipper who was next to me and we both just laughed.    

In a completely different way to the morning, this was what it was all about. Sailing off the Cape in a storm…and loving it. To top it off, we finished the watch, came downstairs to dinner and a tot of “Norfolk nog”. The first time since the equator that we’d had any alcohol onboard – at least the skipper obviously agreed that it was a suitable moment as well. What a day, what a night! You’ll never walk alone…

One ocean crossing down, four more to go! It´s amazing to think that leaving Liverpool was only a month ago. I think that getting up 4 times every day makes it feel like weeks and weeks of sailing. There´s been plenty of adventure with all the ups and downs that make it such a challenge. Living, working and sleeping in a 68 ft one bedroom flat with 14 housemates can certainly be quite demanding at times but there were plenty of breath taking moments to offset the tough times. 

For those who have been following our progress (www.clipperroundtheworld.com has 6-hour updates, daily blogs and photos. Sadly it also has embarrassing video footage!) you will have seen that having fought hard to get into first position after a couple of days, we got stuck in the Canaries for three days without any wind and dropped down to 9th position. The bars, pizzas and showers in Grand Canaria were only a few tempting miles away for days on end! We could almost smell them! 

After the disaster to La Rochelle, we were determined to do better and although it was pretty frustrating, we managed to get back to 6th by the time we arrived here in Salvador. We were reasonably happy with that after our misfortune as we seemed to have more delays in the ´Doldrums´ than other boats too. It´s absolutely amazing that in the middle of an ocean, with thousands of miles for the winds to build up huge waves, the sea can be so still. It really was similar to glass at times and watching the sunsets and moon rising in its refection was something very special. Inevitably though, going nowhere, going backwards and going in circles, as we did without any wind to give us steerage, took its toll on some of the crew and tensions were as high as the heat that was beating down on us. Our only relief was the squalls that brought downpours of rain (and more importantly a bit of wind!) – inevitably that brought the crew up on deck to change sails and then get the shower gel out for a fresh water shower. Normally, washing consists of standing at the back of the boat with a bucket. It´s fine although it´s nowhere near as refreshing as fresh water once the salt has crystallised! I´m not sure if I´ll be as keen to do it in the colder legs though!! 

One of the toughest parts of living on board has been the crew accommodation. When we were moving along, we usually had the hatches battened down to prevent waves and rain getting in. Sadly that prevents us getting much ventilation to the bunk area and 14 bodies lying semi-naked in the heat of the equator, drowning in their own sweat for days on end and not having showers readily available doesn´t lead to an enticing aroma!!  I can´t see “eau de bateau” being a big hit! 

However, I think that smell was preferable to the flying fish that came aboard. They fly out of the water to escape from predators and they can travel for about 100 metres through the air. There were times when schools would fly over the decks. The odd one misjudged it and hit the side of the boat, most made it over but one hit me on the leg! They´re not very tasty apparently so we just throw them overboard again but they absolutely stink!! We were quite concerned that one might get in amongst the sails on deck at night without us realising. One of those rotting away in a sail bag for a couple of days would certainly hide the aroma downstairs in crew accommodation!  The rest of the wildlife was fantastic; lots more dolphins helping us on our way, along with a handful of whales and a couple of turtles. Bizarrely there were birds all the way over, some of which tried unsuccessfully to use our mast as a resting post. We were thousands of miles from any land and still there were birds flying along – maybe they just enjoy the piece and quiet! Crossing the equator was good fun. Following tradition, the Polywogs (those who haven´t crossed the equator´s waters before) were initiated by the Shellbacks (those who have done it before) shortly after crossing at 2:40 in the morning. One of the two Shellbacks dressed up as Neptune and gave the rest of us a good dunking in sea water while we were dressed in dodgy looking t-shirts and pirate gear. We then returned downstairs for half a glass of wine and chocolate – doesn´t sound like much but it was good fun and there were hangovers in the morning! As Shellbacks, we´re now planning our revenge on the new Shellbacks for our next crossing.  

Leaving Liverpool was one of the strangest and emotionally mixed experiences of my life and the torment had been building up for months. After leaving work, saying goodbye to friends and then packing my life onto a boat, it had been a long, long goodbye. In the week leading up to the 16th September, a date that will live long in my memory, a number of close friends and family had made Hurculian efforts to come and visit. I was very touched by their committment and it made leaving all the harder. I put off making the final family phone calls until I could delay no longer. They hurt and each one brought that familiar lump to my throat. I guess it was a testiment to how much they all mean to me but I think it was safe to say that I was a wreck. Thankfully I had the solitude of a hotel room to enable me to shed my tears and regain some kind of composure before battling through the next call. Was this really living the dream?

The week had been full of happy memories, revisiting the city I’d enjoyed as a student, visits, texts, emails and calls to wish me fair winds and plenty of team bonding sessions over beers and climbing walls. In between times, we also had to prepare the boat for our 35,000 mile adventure. It had all come to this; 11:38 September 16 and Western Australia 2011.com slipped her lines. It was a painful and frustrating couple of hours as we progressed through the lock system, friends and family metres away but with the carnival atmosphere in the docks there was no way we could converse - if ever there was a time when eyes tell a story it was then.

As soon as we hit the Mersey, the sunshine disappeared, the winds picked up, nerves died down and the excitement began. This was it. I was starkly aware that this was 5 years of dreaming coming to fruition.

We set up in formation behind the tall ship that was leading and had a quiet chuckle at the thousands of spectators lining the dockside that were soaked by the jets of water from the fire boat behind. From my perspective the start was a confusing and disorientating mess to the extent that I didn’t even know the race had started until we were 1 minute into it. Cannons fired boats were trying to t-bone each other to get around the buoys and there was plenty of screaming to be heard over the high winds.

Leaving the cannons and crowds of Liverpool behind, we battled up the Mersey to receive yet more cannon fire and appreciation from spectators lining the Wirral and taking a breather to catch a glimpse of the airobatic display behind us. The winds were ferocious - what had happened to the sunshine we’d enjoyed all week in the docks?

As the watch leader I was terrified. I felt responsible for the 7 lives on my watch and it was blowing a gale. The first 36 hours of the race were some of the toughest conditions I’d faced and I felt as though I should have known what was going on! It was a long night; there were sails in the wrong places, winches were slipping, we were tacking every couple of minutes, we were one crew member down due to illness and yes, I was back in that very familiar but unenviable place of reproducing everything I’d ever swallowed and more over the decking. To make matters worse, the skipper was in bed on IV fluids - not ideal by any means. I didn’t once change my clothing or clean my teeth and I was asleep in my bunk before I could get into my sleeping bag. I just wanted to wake up and the race be over.

After that baptism of fire, conditions started to change. We had large swells but northerly winds enabled us to surf down them which was great fun. Maybe the Southern Ocean will be fun afterall? I started to settle into my role as Watch Leader, the sun started to shine, getting up 4 times a day became the norm, the winds were dying and my stomach settled down. Now I was enjoying my sailing again.

The contrast over those first couple of days and the final hours was incredible. The sun was shining, the seas were a millpond and we were struggling to find any wind - we managed 0 knots on the speedo! As a result, the race committee decided to change the finish line so that we could start motoring at midnight and make it to La Rochelle on a reasonable day. The evening brought what I expect will remain as a highlight of the whole trip. Phospheresence was flickering in the waters and then we were joined by a school of dolphins, their outlines highlighted in the fluorescent sparkles. You could watch them clearly honing in on the boat like a torpedo, turning on a halfpence, playing just off our bow. In the dead of night, I lay on the deck, my hand inches from their fins, ecstatic to see these wonderful creatures just off the French coast.

I was woken half way through an off-watch and told that skipper wanted a word. I wasn’t sure what it was but I feared the worst. He informed myself and the other Watch Leader that we were in 9th position and with the 10th boat having retired due to a serious accident onboard we took the option to finish our race early, start the motor and try to get into La Rochelle before the locks closed to enable our 3 crew in need of a dentist a chance of early treatment. It was gutting to have to admit defeat but it would only have been delaying the inevitable.

It was a relaxed and pleasant trip in and despite being a competitive sportsman, coming in 9th didn’t bother me - old age perhaps or maybe there’s more to this experience than winning. But then it hit me. We were in the town hall for prize giving and we had no role to play in the ceremony other than standing back and applauding. I didn’t like it one bit and my determination built. We will do better next time. What happened? I don’t really know but I think it was a combination of tactics, not pushing the boat as hard as others and not pushing ourselves. The conditions are not an excuse, afterall every boat suffered in the same way.

It’s been a good rest, I’ve restocked on plenty of pain au chocolat (found out where la gare really is - Tricolore was correct!!) and hopefully we’ve rejuvinated. There’s a steely determination on board to do better and I think we will. With so much having happened in the first 4 days, I can only wonder what the next 4 weeks and 5,000 miles will bring….

Anxiously I stepped on board ‘home’ for the next 11 months. After 6 months without even thinking about a boat, I questioned my recent focus on raising money for charity rather than learning how to sail. Yet again, the controls looked familiar but remembering how to use them seemed a dim and distant memory.

With new drugs inside me, travel bands on and a determination to battle sea sickness we headed out of port. Despite being the middle of the summer, the sky was overcast, the wind was blowing and the waves were lapping the top of the deck. I was delighted to get through 12 hours without any queasy feeling but then in the afternoon it reappeared like a recurring nightmare. The body has an amazing ability to forget just how awful you feel sometimes. I was going to keep count of the number of times I re-decorated the deck but I ran out of fingers and toes within a couple of hours! The only reassurance I had was that I was not alone and others went down one by one. With only 4 of us on our watch, with one steering the boat from the helm, it left three to change sails and operate the rest of the yacht. Going to my bunk was not an option. We were taking two minutes out to try and get to the side of the boat (preferably downwind from everyone else) and then carrying on, humping sails around the foredeck in the dead of night with waves constantly hitting us. Drained of all energy, with no food inside us and dehydrated, our determination and strength were tested. It was a very, very long night.

Thankfully after 24 hours I felt much, much better and managed to hold down some food and water. As we went through the motions of the boat operations, I remembered what I was doing and things came back to me reasonably quickly. We were on a watch system, so we were 4 hours on, 4 hours off during the day and 3 hours on, 3 hours off during the night. For those of us that have never really experienced it before, it was weird!! I’ve done shift work before but this is very different because there is no “big sleep” as my 3 year old nephew would call it, at any point in your life. There were times when you would only get a couple of hours kip by the time you’d eaten and got to your bunk, so was it worth getting into a sleeping bag? It took a real effort and I didn’t make it on a few occasions. You get up a handful of times every day - when do you brush your teeth? When should you eat breakfast? Life took on a very different time zone. There’s no such thing as battle on to the end and we’ll have a lie in soon because it doesn’t ever come. I’m sure I’ll get used to it but right now, it still feels strange.

Again, the week finished with a race. Not ten minutes in, we blew a hole through our spinnaker sail. It was spectacular as the boat was sailing along with a huge great big sail streaming along, attached to the boat only at the very top of the mast. It made getting it in quite a challenge and life was pretty manic for 15 minutes! It was quite amusing watching the other boats then follow suit one after the other and sail after sail were ripped apart by the powerful winds.

As it was a race around the Isle of Wight (and beyond) it took over 13 hours to complete. The reality of racing life was very different to what I had experienced so far. There are long periods with little activity other than the trimming of sails, which only requires a couple of people. This proved difficult to dress for as it was pretty chilly sat on the edge of the boat getting wet, but then you overheat when you do have to tack or gibe. A conundrum that I’ve yet to figure out….

The second week saw many new faces join the crew and we were fully manned to the extent that we gave one of our crew to another boat for the week! This meant that when my poor car was used to transport a week’s food shopping for 18 people, I was virtually doing wheelies on the way back!

Having spent the previous week on the water, I had gained much more confidence and I was much happier on the water and really, really enjoyed it. There was a great atmosphere on board and I think I’ll have a great laugh with all the crew. The format pretty much followed the same as the previous week although I am delighted to report that I wasn’t ill despite quite a few others going through that trauma.

Much to my surprise I was named as one of the rotating watch leaders but this proved to be a fantastic learning experience. I was forced to understand the full process of each manoeuvre and developed an understanding that I hadn’t appreciated beforehand. While I am still very much one of the novices on board, I feel as though I came on leaps and bounds during the week, both in confidence and knowledge. However, with it came the responsibility of the boat and when the skipper was asleep, I was supposed to be the one in charge so nodding off at 3 in the morning in the freezing rain really wasn’t an option despite some pretty strong temptation!

The TV crews came out to do some media work from their helicopter half way through the week. Amazingly the sun appeared for the first time in 10 days just as they approached. It was great to see all the boats line up in formation, sailing along just metres apart from each other. There was a genuine excitement on board and you could feel the energy levels rising. Having all 18 crew perched on the side of the boat as it keeled over, getting hit by every oncoming wave was a great sight and I’m sure it provided some impressive footage.

By the end of the week the wind had died down so much that it had come to a standstill. So much so in fact that the race was cancelled. We set our anchor and I followed a couple of others into the water for a much needed swim (and it also offered the opportunity for a much needed wash!). In a stupid moment of bravado, we decided to swim ashore to the Isle of Wight and we soon discovered that distances over water are very, very deceptive. By the time we’d landed on the beach, I was freezing so it seemed like a good idea to go for a run….that is until the sunbather turned over and displayed his naked butt and we realised that we were on a nudist beach. It was a quick decision to jump back in the water and swim to the boat. After lunch, a cuppa and multiple layers, I finally warmed up again.

After motoring ashore and going through the rigmarole of a deep clean, we hit the pub and then finished the week with the first of what I suspect will be many boat parties onboard WA. I can’t wait for the race and to spend a year sailing, sleeping, eating and maybe the odd party… No time for anything else!

Here are some audio diaries from my training. Many thanks to Solid State Sound for their generosity with the Zoom H4 personal recorder. Click to download.

Audio Diary 1

Audio Diary 2

Audio Diary 3

After following the bright red issue jackets with “Clipper 07/08” on the back to the Guildhall in Portsmouth, I found a few familiar faces from my training weeks. I was struck by the size of the operation. Over 350 people will be sailing at least one leg of the race. Thankfully I also noticed the number of younger people around which was a surprise after my two training weeks and it brought a wry smile to my face as I thought back to my initial impressions.

There was a definite buzz in the air and the excitement built in anticipation of finding out which boats we were on and who our fellow crew will be. After some very amusing speeches telling us all about our route, maps and general information, Sir Robin Knox-Johnston (the first man to sail around the world single handed and owner of the race company) gave an inspirational speech all about the fear of the unknown. It made me think and yes, I am truly petrified by the prospect ahead of me but I can’t tell you why – it really is the unknown and nothing else. I genuinely expect to have the time of my life, spend 10 months doing something I’ll love, meet some fascinating people, go to some cool places and learn shed loads, including how to sail hopefully. Why be scared, what a great thing to do but for some reason, my logic is overcome by my emotions.

The ten skippers were introduced and then each one read out their crew. There was only one boat I wasn’t keen on. Four boats had been read out, I was yet to hear my name, a few friends had been allocated – I had this awful feeling that I might be on the boat I really didn’t want to get. Then, finally, Western Australia had John Kimber onboard. Brilliant!! I was on with my mate Steve which made it even better but sadly Chris wouldn’t be joining us. I was very relieved and delighted to be with them – I’ve just got to survive a few world cups with a bit of Aussie banter!

Opting for February was intended to give me some experience of the rough weather that I can expect during the race. I was not to be disappointed! With speeds ranging from Force 4 (windy) to Force 9 (why on earth am I doing this…please get me to shore safely) we had more than enough wind. So much so that we couldn’t even get the boat out of the harbour on some days.

However, despite lots of rusty knowledge buried deep in my memory we had two of the most patient teachers to help us dig it out. John and Karen were brilliant and finally I started to actually understand why things were done, why the order of pulling ropes is as it is and the concept of sailing round the world looked decidedly more appealing by the end of the week.

It was also a chance to get to know the actual boats that we’ll be sailing on. They’re 8 ft longer than those used in my last training week and it makes a huge difference as they seem to be a lot more spacious. All the ropes, winches and positions are different but to be honest, with my memory failure, that wasn’t an issue for me and it felt like learning it all from scratch anyway. Yet again I was at the bottom of the class but somehow the gap to the rest of the group didn’t seem quite as big as last time. There was hope.

I had one particularly rough day early in the week when yet again, it felt as though everything I’d eaten was being churned up deep inside my stomach and returning to the outside world with a force capable of disturbing ocean currents. It’s vile! I really hate that feeling. Thankfully, by the end of the week I was feeling much better and I was able to cope with the waves and swell of the English Channel although I’m still very nervous about the prospect of the larger ocean waves. I’ve found a new solution though… whenever I do any activity, I take my hat off so as not to overheat. It seemed to work but I’m sure we’ll find out on Part C training!

It’s amazing how life in the outdoors works. On that day, the waves and wind did eventually die down and as we motored back into port, the night sky lit up with the twinkling stars and the moon shimmering on the waves. After the turmoil of the day, battling high winds and sea sickness, peace and tranquillity returned and the beauty of my surroundings hit me. Had the struggle been worth it… is climbing a mountain in torrid conditions worth the pain for that extra special tasting pint in the warm pub at the end of the day…of course it is!

The end of the week finale was a race against another Part B crew. After a really good week of training, we were quite pumped up for the race and despite reasonable winds and a bit of rain, I was really looking forward to it. Sadly at the race start, one of our sails failed to launch but thankfully we were given a reprieve. We had been closing the gap but we had the not-so-minor problem of a container ship on our stern chasing us down. This thing was huge! I hadn’t realised just how big they are until I was looking up at it from sea level and it was giving us 5 blasts on its horn (which signals “what the **** are you doing?”)!! So, we had another start…only for the same thing to happen again. I was pretty disappointed to be honest and the opposition were soon well away and we lost the race. Now I’m not the best loser in the world but then that’s probably not too bad a quality if you’re entering a round the world yacht race!

Arriving on the jetty, the 60ft of fibreglass & wood in front of me was not looking big enough to take 15 crew around the world. However, my main concern was that I was the only one in my twenties and I strongly suspected being one of three under 40. Had I found the SAGA jetty? One consequence of this that wasn’t offering any comfort was that htey had plenty of ‘opportunity’ to gain plenty of sailing experience. Hence they conversed in some foreign language in which I recognised most words but I was completely lost on the meaning. Now, I’m a confident guy but at that moment, I felt like a very lost little boy!

On board, I quickly learnt where ‘forehead’, ‘port’ and ‘bottom’ were. I searched all the bottom bunks and the one at the front on the left was the only one without any bags. The learning curve was looking vertical from my current position deep down in the chasm of an ocean trench. The opportunity of a lifetime that I’d signed up for was rapidly subsumed into the challenge of a lifetime. Now I understand why fewer people have sailed around the world than had stood on the summit of Everest. Why couldn’t I be a normal person, with normal ambitions and a normal job?

The following few days were about language training. Ropes became halyards & sheets; sails became headsails, mainsails and stormsails; tacks were no longer nails; kitchens became gallies, and toilets became heads. Heads? I mean where is the logic? There’s a plethora of names available but no, the sailing fraternity have decided to take a perfectly good word and stolen it to mean ‘toilets’. Going to the pub on the first evening offered the perfect excuse not to use the onboard ‘heads’ but by the morning, I had no choice. There was no option. Sat there with nothing other than a piece of cloth between me and my fellow crew, who I hadn’t even known for 24 hours, I went about my business and then pumped dry and pumped wet. For those who do not understand - lucky you, best to keep it that way!
Being the weakest link in the group was something I struggled to come to terms with. I was desperate to learn but my cogs weren’t whirring as fast as some would have liked as I had to translate every instruction into English. “Winch the sheet in to tighten the main” - come on, what on earth does that mean?!

As we headed West, the answer to one of my biggest fears was realised. The queezy feeling rooted itself deep inside my stomach and clung on. It was in there for the long haul, digging its nails in and sapping every ounze of strength from within me. Every rock and roll of the boat made it worse. I made it to the guard rail seconds before lunch arrived - on its way back up! That was my initiation to hell on earth. I tried to make it to my bunk but I fell over so I just sat there, bucket between my knees, on the floor of the boat waiting for the next episode of wrenching. It was a marathon to climb through the hatches, clamber over sails and find my bunk. Lying down felt so much better but even lifting my head an inch reproduced the most ferocious wrenching. Just how much bile can one stomach hold? As if that wasn’t bad enough, I ended up sharing the pre-used bucket with another casualty. Throwing up next to my ear just reinforced the gut screaming pain of vomit.

As the week went on and I grew in knowledge, confidence and found some sealegs, so I started to see what all the fuss was about and realised the thrills I could look forward to during the 10 month race. Whether it’s swimming, surfing or sailing the adrenalin rush when you harness nature’s power offers such a natural high that you keep coming back for more. Being at the helm, sailing into the sunset, watching the stars begin to twinkle as the wind whistled around the sails and the waves lapped at the hull really was a pleasure, honour & delight. Taking on the world…it won’t be without its challenges & difficulties but I know the highs will be sky high. Up for it? You bet I am…

Would you sign up to climb Everest without ever having climbed a hill? What kind of person signs up to run an ‘Iron Man’ without doing a single day of training? So why have I signed a contract to say that I would hand over my life savings, be prepared to give up my career and life as I know it to risk life and limb sailing around the world through some of the most ferocious places on earth with no experience worth mentioning? Do I get sea sick - I haven’t got a clue!!

September 16th will see me set sail in the Clipper Round the World Yacht Race. Follow my progress as I learn to sail, take on 3 oceans and visit 6 continents on the 10 month challenge of a lifetime…